Nicole Aldape writes about the approaching anniversary of her father's death. Her father died almost one year ago, on Easter Sunday, in a car wreck, and she is having a very hard time dealing with the memories.
Easter means different things to different people. To those who believe, Easter signifies the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, and it is a day of celebration and joy. To others, Easter means Easter baskets stuffed full of candies and other goodies guaranteed to make a kid deliriously happy, the Easter bunny, and Easter egg hunts. But to me, Easter means but one thing: the death of my father, Arturo. Easter is anything but happy for me.
My daddy died last year, right on Easter Sunday, in a car wreck. He had gone to Easter services at our church, St. Thomas Catholic, and on his way home from church, he was hit by a drunken driver. He never had a chance. He died before the ambulance even got to the scene. He was only forty years old when he died.
Daddy's death hit both my mom, Michelle, and myself very hard, and now, nearly a year later, we are still feeling sad, scared, empty, and alone, We still feel his absence from our lives as plain now as we did when it first happened, and we both still cry and ask God but one question: "Why"?
I used to love Easter, but now I hate it. Every time I see the Easter decorations going up or the stuff being put on display in the stores, I can't help but being reminded of daddy, and it just the sight of happy, fuzzy bunnies, fluffy, yellow baby chickens, sweet-faced little baby ducks or lambs, or Easter flowers (let alone, dyed Easter eggs or Easter egg kits or Easter candy) is enough to make me want to cry (in which I have been doing a lot of as of lately).
My daddy was a fun-loving man who cherished his wife and his only kid, and he was always smiling, laughing, or singing. He rarely had a frown upon his face, and he loved working with his hands. He especially loved to cook, and his Italian dishes were to die for, they were so good. He was a very devout Catholic, and he went to mass each and every Sunday, somtimes even going twice a day.
Daddy loved me in a way that could be called special. I was his pride and joy, and nothing pleased him more than to make me happy. He stayed by my side wheenver I was in the hospital from flares or surgeries, and if anyone could chase away nightmares, he could. I was his only child, so it was only natural that he spoiled me.
But now all I am left with are memories. All I have left of my father are scads of pictures, one of his favorite shirts that he used to wear around the house, and his coin collection. Whenever I miss him (which is often), I look at these things, and I cry because I still miss him so very much.
I have been seeing a special doctor so I can help sort out my feelings about daddy's death, and I also have been writing in my "daddy journal"; writing of my deepest, innermost feelings about his death. Even now, nearly one year later, I still cry whenever I write in it, and I still am very angry at the guy who so carelessly drank before he drove and ultimately killed my daddy. His death has certainly affected my overall health, and I have found that I have been sick more now since he died than beforehand. Maybe that is one reason why I have had so many problems as of late.
Anyway, Easter is a very hard day for me, and I guess I will always have a very hard time with the Easter season because Easter Sunday so happened to be the day where my world ended and my daddy was taken away from me.
Like Saint Patrick's day is difficult for us, due to the death of our mother, you've penned the emotional upheavals extremely well. You get tired of seeing other people celebrating when your world came to an end...it gets easier as the years go by, but the memories are still there. BRAVA! for a heartbreaking, cleansing write
Oh Karen, how very sad. This was a well written story. Perhaps you should re-classify this piece as a children's piece. I have written a few children's pieces, and the hits they have gotten are far and above the hits I've received for mainstream adult stuff. There are little kids out there that could benefit from Nicole's wisdom and experience. Love and hugs, Michelle
A page-turning novel about a relationship between best friends that is interrupted because of betrayal , deceit, sexual promiscuity and pregnancy happens!
Easter means different things to different people. To those who believe, Easter signifies the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, and it is a day of celebration and joy. To others, Easter means Easter baskets stuffed full of candies and other goodies guaranteed to make a kid deliriously happy, the Easter bunny, and Easter egg hunts. But to me, Easter means but one thing: the death of my father, Arturo. Easter is anything but happy for me.
